


United Nations Boarding School

by orphan_account



Category: Politics - Fandom, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Boarding School, High School AU, It's all a joke, Politics, also this isn't meant to be political, at all, im sorry, like i can write better than this i jUST, like i don't believe half of what i write in this, like its total crack, pls dont take it seriously, there is blatant justin and emmanuel shipping but its not like the main part i guess, this isnt meant to be great
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-09-27 00:19:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9939428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Justin Trudeau has just been hired as a new government teacher at United Nations Boarding School. Now he must keep the students in line as they start their Student Government elections.





	1. Welcome to Class, Mr. Trudeau!

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a political statement. Don't take this seriously or get offended....please.
> 
> I said I'd write this so I did. It's purely crack so if you're looking for A+ deep writing don't look here. I mean, I think that's obvious but you know, gotta have that disclaimer fam.
> 
> Enjoy, my loves.

High school is a privilege that brings all kinds of teenagers together for a singular, positive purpose: the love of learning. By obtaining a secondary education degree, pupils unlock countless opportunities for their future and obtain the means to achieve their dreams. They also get to make lifelong friends along the way. Who wouldn’t want to be employed in such an institution and help change the lives of the world’s youth?

That's at least what Justin Trudeau told Principal Bernie Sanders in his interview. The two men were seated in the principal’s office, Sanders on one side of the desk and Trudeau on the other. The Canadian’s paperwork was spread out on the table as Sanders looked over it.

Trudeau was applying for a teaching position at United Nations Boarding School – UNBS for short. Some students even shortened it more to UN, but many just said BS. Either way, it was somehow a prestigious institution known to people all over the world. For some odd reason, the last 11th grade government teacher – a Mr. David Cameron – had quit halfway through the school year. This left all his government classes and homeroom with a long term substitute by the name of Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva. However, realizing that Lula may not have been the best long term leader, Sanders decided to go ahead and hire a new permanent teacher.

Principal Bernie, a little unnervingly, chuckled at Trudeau’s description of why he wanted to teach high school.

"Total bullshit," he said. "But I like your heart.”

“Um, thank you, sir,” Trudeau replied, not certain how else to reply to such a comment.

Sanders picked up Trudeau’s resume and read over it carefully.

“So you went to McGill University? Then the University of British Columbia? Impressive."

"Yes. Thank you, sir," Trudeau repeated.

"And it says here you starred in a TV show?"  
  
"Yes. It’s called The Great War. It's about Canada's role in World War I. I played Talbot Mercer Papineau, a lawyer and soldier."

“A lawyer and a soldier, hmm? Guess that makes you an expert on keeping order.”

“I do consider myself pretty good at that.”

Sanders smiled. “Consider yourself hired.”

Trudeau felt a wave of relief rush through him. "Thank you so much. I look forward to starting Monday."  
  
Sanders shrugged. "It's hard to find any teacher. The children here at United Nations can be…troubled.”  
  
"I'm sure it's nothing I can't handle. I can help these children."  
  
"We once had a student named Fidel here. He literally threatened to blow up another student,"  
  
"Fidel sounds like a very…confident boy," Trudeau said, attempting to take a neutral stance.  
  
Principal Sanders raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. He shifted through Trudeau's paperwork again a moment, and stopped on one page in particular. "Your birthday is December 25th?"   
  
Trudeau nodded. "Merry Christmas to me!"  
  
"Right. Well, let's hope it stays merry," Principal Sanders declared. "Hope you can save these kids without having them kill you first."

* * *

  
"It was so fun having you come over to my house this Spring Break, Donny!"  
  
"What, Vlad, you thought I'd sit at home all week? Enrique lives next door to me; I wasn’t going to stay there. Besides, I couldn’t let Father’s trust fund go to waste by not traveling somewhere."  
  
Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin happily chatted away as they walked into their eleventh grade homeroom together. They took their seats in the front row, right in the center to show their dominance. Petro Poroshenko, seated on the other side of Putin, started to shift his desk away from them. Putin noticed.  
  
"You're not going anywhere, Ukrainian..." Putin warned. "Who else am I supposed to copy my homework from?"  
  
"C-can't you ask D-Donald?" Petro said, and immediately regretted it at the look of indignation flashing across Putin's eyes.   
  
"Where do you think he gets his answers from?" Putin asked, and he gestured towards himself. "You stay."

The other classmates filed in sporadically, most appearing tired. It was the first day back from break, after all. They were all a little surprised when a good-looking man entered the room, cup of Tim Horton’s in one hand and a briefcase in the other. He appeared to be in his mid-40’s, but not a single grey hair showed on his head.  

“Hello, class!” the man said. He walked to the front of the classroom, beaing at everyone. “I’m Mr. Trudeau. I’ll be your new homeroom and government teacher.”

One of the students raised their hand. “What happened to Mr. Cameron?”

Trump answered before Trudeau could. “I heard he fucked a pig.” A few people in the class giggled. Other seemed appalled. Trudeau quickly tried to shush them.

“That’s not why. Don’t spread rumors, Mr…”

“Trump. Donald Trump. I’m sure you’ve heard my name, or at least my father’s. We’re American icons.”

“I’m Canadian,” Trudeau said. “Now, class, let me call roll and make sure everybody’s here.”

The man went back to his desk and opened the briefcase. He took out an attendance sheet and a pencil. He started calling out names.

“…William Clinton?”

“You can call me Bill,” Clinton said, smiling charmingly. “Here.”

“François Hollande?”

A boy eating a cup of Flanby custard looked up. “Here.”

“Jong-Un Kim?”

A boy in the back of the classroom looked up and raised his hand without saying a word. Trudeau smiled to try to break the ice, but the boy just glared.

“Okay, then…Cristina Kirchner?”

A stylish brunette raised her hand. “Here.”

The names continued. May, Merkel, Moon, Obama, Robinson, Rodham, Rousseff, Poroshenko, Putin…

“Michel Temer?”

“Here.”

Truly confused, Donald Trump whispered to anybody around him, “Michel? I thought his name was Fora…”

Dilma Rousseff, seated behind Trump, cackled. Trump rolled his eyes.

Trudeau finished the list. “And lastly, Donald Trump…You've already made your presence known.” He put the list away and walked back to the front of the class.

Trudeau told the class about himself for a bit, and his classroom expectations. It was nothing too exciting - just the basic rules about not being disruptive or playing on your phone in class. Then, he suddenly switched topics. “I have one last important announcement. It’s time for Student Government elections to take place! As you probably know from years before, those in the Student Government have the opportunity to work on things like Pep Rallies, Prom, and in general help make decisions on how to run aspects of the school. Not to mention, it's a great resume builder. Your whole class will be looking up to you, so you want to make sure you have the drive to be a good representative and impress them."

“Yeah, because as we learned from Rousseff last year, you can get kicked out,” Trump said, still angry about her laughing. She fumed. 

Ignoring Trump's comment, Trudeau continued, "I want you guys to think about the possibility of running tonight. Tomorrow I'll take the names of those who are interested and we'll discuss campaigning." The bell rang. "That's it. Class dismissed!"

Trudeau watched as the students left. This wouldn't be too hard. Hopefully. 


	2. Rivalries and Escalators

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone and thank you for your surprising support on this story! I love you all. Hope you enjoy this next chapter! 
> 
> Again, please don't take anything as a legitimate political statement...this is all a parody, my dudes.

The day after the campaign announcement, the students of United Nations Boarding School went to homeroom with obvious tension. Trudeau was going to take down names of those who wanted to run for class president, and from that point forward it would be a vicious battle between the parties.

Trudeau didn’t hesitate to start the class by getting right into it.

"Alright guys, hope everyone thought about the election last night! For this next few weeks, you all will be involved in this wonderful exercise of democracy!"

Kim Jong-Un got up and left the classroom.

Trudeau watched, unsure of whether or not he should say something. He decided to let it be.

"Um…so raise your hand if you want to participate!" Trudeau said, trying to give an encouraging smile to his pupils who were still there.

Trump immediately shot his hand into the air, proclaiming, "I know nothing about politics but I know I can help this school!"

Putin and Temer raised their hands next, without the vocal statement.

Trudeau scribbled their names on the board. "Great! Is that it? You three stay after the bell. I'll tell you about the specifics then."

After everyone had left, the three newly proclaimed candidates gathered around Trudeau's desk for more information on how they could crush the other two...or win the election, at least. 

“The campaigning will take four weeks,” Trudeau explained to them. “The first three will be a chance for you to market yourself to the student body however you see best fit - within school policy, that is. This includes putting up posters and using social media to spread awareness. The last week, we’ll all gather in the auditorium for you to give speeches! So be thinking of what you want to say. Really, what you need to do is focus on your positive qualities...I'm sure you all have at least one...and use that to reach the other students! Class President gets to help plan student events such as fundraisers, Prom, Homecoming, and the like, so you want to show them that you're capabale of being at least a halfway fun and creative person!"

Putin and Trump shared disgusted looks. Temer just stared blankly at Trudeau. 

Trudeau, realizing that what he said was probably pointless for these three, decided to get into the technical side of running. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out three sets of forms. "These are for you to fill out tonight. Bring them back to me by the end of the week. I just have to turn it into the office so they know who is running for each grade. Okay?"

That seemed to resonante with the boys a little more. They agreed. 

"Good. I'll see you later today in government class."

Temer left first, vanishing quietly, ominously. 

"That Temer is creepy," Trump said to Putin after they'd left, too. "He reminds me of a vampire."

"We should work together to take him out," Putin suggested. "At least for now."

Trump smiled. "Fora Temer!"

* * *

Lunchtime came quickly. It was for all the upper levels, so grades 7 – 12 were together in the cafeteria together. There was almost tangible excitement in the air. The prospect of the next student election was thrilling. Even for the kids who couldn’t care less about scholarly politics, student election time meant they would be getting lots of bribes from their fellow students to vote for them.

Donald Trump sat at the table in the center of the room. His newest girlfriend – Melania – was seated right by his side. Vladimir Putin sat across for them, tolerating their affection but a little turned off by it. He’d recently broken up with his longtime girlfriend, Lyudmila.

“Don, I think it’s _so_ courageous of you to run for office,” Melanie cooed, tracing her finger down his chubby belly. “I know you’ll win…”

“And I know you’ll help me win,” Trump purred.

“I would if I could, babe, but since I’m in middle school, I’m not allowed to participate.”

The two of them started passionately making out in front of everyone, not really caring what anybody thought. Putin looked away, sulking. It was then that he noticed Michel Temer peering over at them from another table, judging their every move. As soon as the two made eye contact, Temer looked away and pretended to be having a casual conversation with his girlfriend, Marcela, who was also substantially younger than him and in middle school like Melania.  

“Donald,” Putin whispered, keeping his gaze on towards the Brazilian’s direction. “Temer has been watching.”

Donald only tore his lips away from Melania long enough to say, “Sure he has. This is hot.”

“No, Donald, it wasn’t for... _this_!” Putin said, gesturing towards the couple and obviously frustrated. He generally was on edge while Melania was around. "He’s sizing us up for the election.”

Trump broke away from Melania again, sighing. “Look, I know there’s some bad hombres out there –“

“It’s ‘homens.’”

“What?”

“’Hombres’ is Spanish.”

“Yeah? So is Temer.”

“No, he’s Brazilian and he speaks Por-”

“Look, I don’t care! I’m not a politician,” Trump interrupted. “What matters is that I’ve got connections and they can keep an eye on Temer for me. Those connections include you. If he misbehaves, you can Jiu Jitsu him for me if you’d like!”

“It’s _Judo_ that I like, and _Judo_ is a very great sport!” Vladimir said, putting a hand over his heart. “I’m writing a book about it! I think I’ll call it, _Judo with Vladimir Putin_!”

“That’s great,” Trump said, uninterested. He looked at Melania and smirked. “I think I’ll write a book, too, babe. And I’ll call it: _How to Grab ‘em in the-_ ”

Right as Trump was reaching down, the bell rang. Putin sighed in relief.

“What class do you two have next?” Melania asked.

“Government.”

* * *

The eleventh grade class was back in Trudeau’s classroom, though this time for an actual lecture. Chugging another coffee from Tim Horton's, Trudeau started his lesson plan.

"Campaigns!" Justin started. "Every politician has to be good at advertising himself in order to win an election. First, you need to show that you know something about politics. You need to use positive and engaging advertisements to assure the country - or student body, for you little politicians running for Student President - that you know what you're doing!"

The class seemed to follow, so Trudeau continued.

"However, whether you like it or not, much of the time, winning an election is less about a candidate's actual political stance and more about what kind of person they come across as. Do you seem like a responsible person who actually cares about the state of the country?" 

"I have a great personality," Trump said. A few classmates giggled, but Putin glared at them to sush.

Trudeau ignored Trump's comment. Bambi was suddenly becoming a relevant movie. _If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all..._

The teacher continued his lesson, starting to walk in place. "Here's an example of an advertisement. Let's say you're climbing up an escalator that's going the opposite direction. We know how that goes, right? You're as stuck as Canada under the rule of Harper! But, as you're announcing how you're a good candidate to fix that, the escalator stops and suddenly you're moving upwards, forwards..." Trudeau walked to the other end of the classroom. "It's a perfect visual metaphor to show that you're the solution to fix the country's stangancy!"

"That's stupid," Trump said. "Who needs a metaphor when you can just tell the people what you mean! Don't hold anything back! The people want to hear the truth!"

"Well, that could be a strategy, but people get bored if you get too technical."

"Who said it had to be complicated?" Trump said. He smiled. "Don't worry, I've got the perfect campaign in mind..."

"Okay..." Trudeau said, a little worried. "As long as you try to stay appealing."

"Being appealing is important. And that's hard for us females. It's an unfair world full of masochism," Cristina Fernández de Kirchner spoke up from her desk in agreement.

Trudeau nodded. "There is definitely sexism within the political world, and it's important for us to realize that so we can fight against -"

"Maybe Hillary should have run for class president. Hillary's a macho man, right?"

Hillary Rodham, seated on the opposite side of the classroom from her nemisis, fumed. "You know, Kirchner, citizens also want a mentally stable candidate, and I'm not sure if you fit that bill."

Cristina smirked. "Why don't you ask _your_ Bill what he thinks?" 

Hillary turned towards her boyfriend, but Bill seemed to be totally aware of what was going on. He was holding his cellphone up to get us good angle, smiling to take a picture on Snapchat to send to somebody.

Hillary stood up. "Mr. Trudeau, is it too late to run?"

Trudeau blinked. "No, the forms aren't due until Friday..."

"Then, Mr. Trudeau, I'm going to run for president...as a woman."

The class gasped. 

Cristina stood up immediatly, too. "I want to run, too! As a _real_ woman!"

More gasps.

Trump smirked. "I hope he forces them to prove it!"

Trudeau seemed a little shocked, but he nodded. "Right...of course." He took the expo marker and wrote the names Rodham and Kirchner on the board besides the other three candidates. "See me after class and I'll give you the forms..."

The candidates were ready. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Putin really did write a book called Judo with Vladimir Putin! Check his Wiki. There's also a documentary he does for Judo on Youtube. A+ material right there.


	3. Women and Football

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What the title says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very short but it's proof that I'm still here! I'll update more when the semester ends, I promise...

Justin Trudeau wasn’t sure what he had expected when he walked to his classroom the next morning, but he would never have predicted that it would be posters of various blonde, Eastern European porn stars.

It didn’t come as much of a surprise, however, when Trudeau discovered that the culprit of these abhorrent posters was Donald Trump. The boy had a stack of them in his hand and was taping them up throughout the school hallways.

“Mr. Trump, what on earth are you doing?” Trudeau asked, horrified.

Donald turned around to face Trudeau, a proud grin on his face. “Preparing for my presidency.”

Trudeau felt his heartrate pick up. What if Principal Sanders saw these? Surely as the government teacher and head of the Student Government, Trudeau would get fired for letting a student use these!

“You have to take these down,” Trudeau ordered. “This is highly inappropriate.”

Donald raised an eyebrow. “That’s unconstitutional. I have the right to freedom of speech.”

“This is a school, not a country,” Trudeau argued. “And I can’t allow you to objectify people like this!”

“People…?” Trump tilted his head, obviously confused at Trudeau’s reference to the women in the posters as human beings. “Mr. Trudeau, I’m just giving the student body what they want. It’s exactly as you said in class yesterday. Advertisements must be engaging.”

The government teacher sighed. Why did Trump actually have to pay attention? “You haven’t turned in your paperwork to run. Campaigning doesn’t even officially start until next week!”

Trump scoffed. “Paperwork and wait times? That’s just unnecessary and intrusive red tape. From this conversation alone, I can tell that what this school needs is change. We need to make United Nations Boarding School great again!” The boy paused. "Hmm, that could be a good slogan..."

Trudeau frowned. He tore the poster that Trump was just about to put up from the boy’s hands and looked at it in disgust. Trump stared at him unapologetically. The teacher’s face went red when he realized who was in this particular poster.

“This is…”

“Donny, I finished putting up the posters in the language hall! And I tore down all the Spanish Club posters like you said!”

Trudeau looked up as Melania walked towards Trump. She gave him a long and slightly disgusting kiss on the lips. Trudeau cleared his throat and Melania finally noticed him.

“You’re Donny’s homeroom teacher right?” she said. “I’m Melania, his girlfriend. I’m in the eighth grade! Which poster are you looking at? Oh, that’s me! Isn’t that such a good angle?”

Trudeau handed her the poster. He didn’t want to hold it any longer. “I’m sorry but I can’t allow you to keep these up, Miss.”

Donald crossed his arms and pouted in a melodramatic manner. “I don’t want to take these down! It took me all morning to put them up!”

Trudeau sighed. Fighting Trump would take too long and he had limited time before Principal Sanders came into the office and saw, so he tapped the shoulder of the nearest student walking by to get help.

“Excuse me, can you…”

He quickly retracted his hand. Kim Jong Un glared at him furiously.

“Don’t touch me or you die,” the boy muttered, and continued to sulk down the hall.

“Right…sorry…I…” Trudeau shook his head. Why were his students like this? He looked down the hall and saw a (slightly) less terrifying face.

“Ah, Mr. Temer!” Trudeau said, smiling pleasantly at his student. “Good morning! Could you do me a favor and help me take down…these?” He motioned towards the stack of papers in Trump’s hands. “I’ll get you something from Tim Horton’s tomorrow if you do.”

Temer peered over to look at the pictures.

“Let me take one for reference.”

Temer took the top poster from Trump’s stack, smiled, and folded it up to keep in his pocket. Then he turned back to Trudeau. “Don’t worry, Mr. Trudeau, they’ll all be down by first period.”

Trudeau suddenly regretted asking.

* * *

 

Physical Education was held outside in a big field behind the school building. The students had changed into their appropriate attire – they had been emailed beforehand to wear clothes appropriate for football – and were waiting for their coach, Ryan Lochte. Generally the man was always late.

The whole class was shocked when a different man with a clipboard walked out on the field, and on time.

“Hello, class, my name is Neymar!” the man said, grinning. He seemed excited to be there. “I’ll be your new coach!”

Michelle Robinson raised her hand. She was one of the best students at PE. “What happened to Coach Lochte?”

The grin on Neymar’s face faltered. “He…he, um…had a little too much to drink one night, peed on the side of the school building, and tried to blame the guard who caught him.”

Michelle looked horrified. Temer looked disgusted. But a few of the other students giggled.

Neymar quickly moved on, cheery again. “Anyway, I hope to get to know all of you over the course of the next few weeks! Now, first for attendance…”

The soccer player called at the names on the list from his clipboard. Clinton, Hollande, Kim…

When Neymar got to Trump, things got awkward.

“Excuse me, Mr. Trump, what is that you’re wearing?”

“Football gear.”

“That’s not football gear.”

“In America it is.”

Donald was dressed out in form-fitting tights, knee pads, shoulder pads, and a helmet. He seemed oblivious to the fact that everyone else was wearing something different.

Neymar let it slide.

“Alright class,” the coach said, once he’d finished calling the names. “We won’t actually play competitively today because you have a lot to learn first! So for today, I want you to warm up by jogging two laps around the field and then come to the bleachers so I can teach you the basic positions. Next week, I'll divide you into teams and we can start our real competition."

A murmur broke out amongst the students. Not only were they being turned against each other for a campaign, but now sports could further damage their relationships! It was clear that the students were already mentally taking not of who they wanted on their teams.

"You ready, kids? Start jogging!"


	4. Fine Arts, Fine Asses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first part is in honor of that clip of French President Macron being aired on TV without knowing, and in honor of the latest, hottest new political ship on the Internet. It’s cringy, I know, but...are y’all really reading this for quality?  
> If any French is wrong please yell at me because I used to take French so I should know.

“ _Pardon, êtes-vous Monsieur Trudeau? Non...vous êtes le nouveau professeur, non? Je suis...mais, non...Bonjour, j’ai vu que...non...je ne sais pas..._ ”

That Monday morning, Justin Trudeau stood outside of the teacher’s bathroom, eavesdropping. He had walked over there to tear down one of the inappropriate campaign posters that Putin had taped up, but stopped upon hearing his name spoken on the other side of the door in French. A French speaker himself, he wondered who else spoke it (apart from that Hollande student that nobody seemed to like). Why they were struggling so much to introduce themselves to him?

Trudeau then heard the person mutter, in French, “It would be so embarrassing if he heard this...”

“He _has_ heard it,” Trudeau said, also in French, though with his Quebecois twang. While he had debated sparing this person’s shame and pretending that he hadn’t, the Canadian couldn’t help but be curious to meet this person. “It’s okay, any of those greetings works!”

The doorknob began to rattle. A man of about forty opened the door. He had clean cut dirty blonde, almost brown, hair and captivating blue eyes. Though obviously embarrassed at being heard, the man played it off as if he was fine with it.

“I suppose that I don’t have to worry about one now,” he said. Trudeau could see a slight blush in his cheeks.

“I guess not,” Trudeau smiled. “Well, I see you know who I am, but you are…?”

The man shook his hand. “Emmanuel Macron, _le professeur de théâtre_ and other fine arts . I was told that there was another French speaker here, and I must admit how glad I am to finally be meeting you _en personne_.”

Trudeau was slightly taken aback by the Frenchman’s adoration, but...it was kind of nice. “ _Enchanté_. How long have you worked here?”

“Only about three years, but I’ve taught for almost twenty. Teaching came naturally as a passion of mine...” Macron smiled, a look on his face as if he was sharing an inside joke with himself. “Have you taught before?”

“ _Non_.”

“Well, how do you like it?”

Trudeau hesitated, debating whether or not he should give his honest opinion on the matter. “I-”

“The students, they’re little rascals, _non_ ? _Moi_ , when I was a student, I always preferred to hang out with the teachers. Much more interesting. Needless to say, I still think other teachers are one of the best parts,” Macron said, winking. “I’ll see you around, Monsieur Trudeau! Feel free to stop by my classroom anytime! It’s number 507! _Salut_!”

“ _À bientôt_ ,” Trudeau said, a little fazed. He couldn’t help but notice Macron’s fine ass as he walked away to his classroom. “ _À_ très _bientôt…_ ”

The man was only shaken out of his stupor when he felt someone tugging on his shirt sleeve. “Hey, Trudeau? Mr. Trudeau? Stop being so gay and pay attention to me!”

Justin shook his head to wake himself up from his trance. “I’m sorry, wha...oh, Mr. Tump.”

Trump stood next to Justin, arms crossed. He looked unimpressed. “I filled out that paperwork you said I needed in order to campaign.” The boy said the word “paperwork” with the utmost disgust. He handed it to his teacher, though. “I assume that you’ll let me put up my posters now?”

Trudeau sighed. He was not in the mood to deal with this boy. “Let me see the poster.”

Trump fumbled around his backpack a moment and then pulled out a piece of paper. He handed it to Trudeau and stared at him unwaveringly as he looked over it.

The advertisement was a picture of United Nations Boarding School...with a giant wall around it. On the top, in capitalized bold lettering, it stated, “MAKE UNBS GREAT AGAIN.” The bottom said, “Vote for Donald J. Trump!” with a small selfie of Trump posing seductively.

“Mr. Trump, you aren’t wearing clothes in this picture.”

“It’s called - “

“Engaging the audience, I know. I know. But there are rules you still have to follow while trying to engage them. Such as, for instance, no nudity,” Trudeau explained sternly. He had to force himself not to roll his eyes. “I didn’t think I’d have to do this, but I’ll go ahead and type up an entire list of the things you cannot have in your campaign. This includes sexual themes, insults, death threats, all of it. To think that you’re not the first one to have done this...”

Trump glared. He snatched the paper back. “We’ll see about that.” He stormed off.

* * *

That night, in the dorms, the presidential candidates had a meeting in the common area. Kirchner, Clinton, Putin, and Temer piled in on the couch, and Trump stood in front of them, pacing back and forth.

“I called you all here tonight to discuss a breach of our rights,” Trump explained.

“I love taking away people’s rights,” Putin said.

“Yeah, but not _o_ _ur_ rights,” Trump retorted. “ _Justin_ is downright going against freedom of speech! What we produce isn't just vulgar, it's art. Fine art!”

Putin though this over a moment. “That’s true. Trudeau said I couldn’t hang my posters up because apparently threatening to kill those who don’t vote for you as a slogan is ‘illegal,’” Putin said, rolling his eyes.

“Right, so you all have got fix this!” Trump said.

“ _We_ do?” Hillary said. “You’re the one all upset about it! _You_ do something!”

“No, Hillary, I’m mad, too,” Kirchner joined in. “I asked him if I could change the voting rules to allow 12th graders to vote for us, too, even though we're 11th grade. I have friends who are seniors, you see. But Trudeau said that wasn’t allowed.”

“Well, of course that shouldn’t be allowed, that would give you the advantage,” Hillary scoffed.

Everyone started to bicker except for Temer, who sat quietly, deep in thought. He suddenly stood up. The others stared at him.

“I have an idea,” he said, starting to slink off towards his room. 

"What are you doing?" Trump asked.

Temer grinned evily. "It doesn't matter. By tomorrow night, we’ll be able to campaign however we want...”

* * *

It was Tuesday afternoon. Trudeau couldn't wait to get home, indulge himself on some Poutine, and hit the hay. It had been a long day. Then again, every day at this school was a long day. The only thing keeping him going at this point was the prospect of seeing that Monsieur Macron again, but Trudeau wasn’t sure what his excuse to go back over there would be. Unlike Macron, he wasn’t a drama teacher, so he couldn’t just improv it.

Just as Trudeau was about to get up from his desk and go home to sulk in his thoughts, he heard someone give three solid knocks on the door.  
  
"Come in."  
  
The door opened. There stood Michel Temer, staring at him intently. He held a manilla folder in his hand.  
  
"Mr. Trudeau, I have a request," the student said. He walked behind the desk and stood right next to his teacher. Trudeau pushed his seat back a little, slightly uncomfortable.  
  
"Erm, yes, Mr. -"  
  
Trudeau's words were cut off as Temer shoved the folder into his hands. Equally confused and concerned, the teacher opened the folder. He almost almost fainted when he saw what was inside.  
  
"These...these are..."  
  
"That's right, Mr. Trudeau. These are sexy college pictures of yourself, ready to be shown to the world."  
  
There was one of the teacher shirtless, flexing his arms as he was being weighed for a boxing tournament. There was another of him with long flowing locks of hair majestically flowing down to his shoulders. One picture featured him shirtless, again, and posing with a beach background as if he was posing for a 90’s summer edition magazine. The rest were no better. In fact, they continued to get more and more risqué.  
  
Trudeau felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. There was no way he could let Temer expose Principal Sanders to this, or worse, the other students to this. If they saw, they’d never respect him again. He’d simply be another sorry Canadian.  
  
“This is unacceptable, Mr. Temer, you have to let me keep this,” Trudeau said, trying not to appear to scared. He wished he could be as good of an actor as Macron probably was. He closed the folder and tightened his grip on it.

"I'm not giving it back. I have rights to what I found!” Temer said, plying the folder of sin from his teacher’s hand. He stepped back some.

“Where did you even find this?”

“There’s a lot on the deep web, Mr. Trudeau, be careful,” Temer vaguely answered. He opened the folder up and looked at the pictures. Blushing, he added, “Don't worry, I’m straight.”

“Listen, Mr. Temer, you can’t -”

“I won’t show anybody else, Mr. Trudeau, but you have to do what I say,” Temer instructed. “You’ve been pretty strict with our campaigning. We don’t like that. Take away the rules.”

“You’re telling me that banning a naked picture of Donald Trump is too strict?!” Trudeau asked.

“Of course not! I don’t want to see that, either! Nobody does! But we shouldn’t all suffer from that!” Temer argued.

“No, but don’t forget that your campaign revolved your classmate, Dilma, stating, ‘At least I’m not her.’”

Temer shrugged and muttered something undoubtedly sassy. Trudeau eyed the manilla folder warily. What if Macron saw what was inside? Would he like it or lose total respect for him?

“Listen, I’ll let you...get away with some campaigning ideas if you promise not to show anybody... _that_.”

Temer smiled. It wasn’t a comforting or pleasant smile. “Good. I expect that we will get along well now, Mr. Trudeau. Have a nice evening.” With that, the student vanished like a ghost.

Trudeau sunk into his seat and sighed.

Well, at least he did look good in those pictures.


	5. Have the Balls?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for the long time it took to update. Life's been busy. But! Here's the next chapter! Please enjoy.

Another day, another PE class.

Neymar had his eleventh grade students stand in a line by the edge of the field as he called roll. They were yet again dressed in football gear, or at least dressed in whatever they thought “football” uniforms meant. 

“Before we start, class, you know the drill. Two laps around the field as a warm up.” Neymar instructed. “Ready? _Vão_!”

The majority of the students did as Neymar wanted. The only ones who didn't run were Kim because he refused to be told what to do, and Hollande because he wasn't really capable of doing anything correctly. 

“There will be two teams, so I need two captains!” Neymar said. He looked at the students, trying to determine who needed to get more involved. “Jong-Un? How about you be a captain?” Kim stared at him in silence. “Come on, you get to pick your teammates!”

The boy sighed. He muttered a few things that nobody else could hear before finally saying, “Fine. But Moon and Trump won't be on my team. I have to annihilate them.”

Neymar blinked. Damn, this kid was Extra™.

Once Kim had taken his spot on one side of Neymar, the man looked back to the class.

“Right, okay, well, um...any volunteers want to be the other coach?”

Michelle Robinson immediately raised her hand. This was no surprise to any of her classmates. She’d always been very sporty.

“Thanks, Michelle!” Neymar said. “You can stand on my other side...now go ahead and pick team members! Ladies first.”

“Okay!” Robinson chirped. She seemed thrilled at the opportunity to play the sport. “My first pick is Barack!”

Obama walked to stand beside Robinson. He was her boyfriend, so it made sense that he was chosen first.

Kim stared in silence. Finally, he pointed at Putin.

Vladimir walked to stand by Kim, much to Trump’s dismay. 

“Moon!” Michelle called, obviously feeling bad that Kim had denounced him in front of the whole class.

Kim did nothing. After an awkward silence, Neymar realized that waiting for Kim to call on somebody was pointless and started assigning people to his team.

In the end, the rosters were divided as follows:

 **Robinson's Team:** Moon, Rodham, Obama, Temer, Trump, Merkel

 **Kim’s Team** : Putin, Clinton, Hollande, Kirchner, Rousseff, Poroshinko

Neymar seemed satisfied enough with this. “Okay, I want you all to have a group meeting with your team. Get to know each other some and assign each other positions. Then we'll do a practice round before starting for real tomorrow."

After some hesitation, the kids awkwardly huddled, most of them feeling like they already knew each other too well. 

Kirchner, standing between Putin and Kim, sighed. "Michelle's got the better team, that's for sure."

"You aren't wrong, babe," Clinton smirked. 

Kirchner rolled her eyes. "Save it for Hillary, Bill. Just because I'm the only girl on this team doesn't mean I'm interested in everybody here."

“Only girl?” Dilma Rousseff challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah?” Kirchner said, obviously confused. “Look around, Dildo. You’re all men.”

 Meanwhile, Robinson's team was doing no better...

"I can't believe I'm on the same team as all of you communists!" Trump whined. 

"Listen, we aren't thrilled to be with you, Ronald McDonald," Merkel scoffed. "But, here we are. So let's act like a team."

Trump rolled his eyes. "This isn't the European Union, Merkel. I'll do what I want. You guys just follow me. I'm an expert in football. That's why they hold the Super Bowl in America, and not Germany."

"Trump, this isn't that kind of foot-"

Angela couldn't finish her sentence. Neymar had realized that the team bonding was a failure and decided to just start the practice. 

"Poroshinko and Moon, you'll be the goalies!" Neymar instructed. "Everyone else...teaching you positions will be pointless, so just get on the field. I'll be the referee, but don't worry. I'll be...very lenient."

"I call being quarterback!" Trump declared. 

Neymar shook his head. "Trump, there is no quarterback!"

"Don't be stupid, Coach, that's the most important position," Trump retorted. 

Neymar put the ball in the center of the field and backed off. He blew the whistle and the game began. 

Michelle Robinson actually tried to kick the ball. Putin, not wanting her to have the satisfaction, actually tried to throw in some kicks too. Trump rolled his eyes. This was going nowhere.

"Forget this!" he said, and ran towards the ball. He picked it up with his hands and started running across the field. 

"You can't do that!" Merkel yelled after him. "That's illegal!"

"I'm not illegal!" Donald yelled back, dropping the ball in his anger. "I was born here and I've never done any crime in my life, financial or otherwise!"

Putin took this chance to take the ball. Trump finally noticed.

"Sorry, Vlad, but America can't let Russia win!" he said, and ran after Putin. He lunged on top of him and pinned him to the ground. 

This finally caused Neymar to blow the whistle.  

“Trump!” Neymar yelled. “You can't physically attack people!"

“It’s called a tackle!” Trump said. “Don’t you know how to play football?”

“A tackle? You can’t tackle people in football?”

“Yeah, you do! You tackle them to stop the ball!”

“Donald, as enjoyable as this is, can you get off me?” Putin interrupted. "This is uncomfortable."

Trump sighed and got off of Putin. "I see, so you usually top?"

Neymar's expression looked like he wanted to die. "You know what? Just...we're done for today guys."

"I won, right?" Trump said. 

"It would be your _team_ that wins, not you alone, and no. Nobody won today," Neymar said. He rubbed his temples. He felt a headache coming on. "Anyway, I'm releasing you early. Have a good time at the rest of your. classes. I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

The class shuffled back to their homeroom. They had government class next, though Trudeau wasn't there yet since they'd been released so early for PE. However, once it was time for class to start, the Canadian still wasn't there.

"Why isn't Trudeau here?" Trump asked, sitting in his usual seat at the front and center of the classroom. 

"Yeah, it's not like he's an inconsiderate selfish American who doesn't care about other people's agendas," Merkel agreed. 

"Was that an insult?" Trump asked. He turned to Putin. "Did she just insult me?"

Putin patted Trump on the back. "Don't worry about what any other Europeans but me say."

At that moment, Trudeau entered the classroom. He looked blushed and was holding a box of desserts with the French flag painted on it. "Sorry I'm late class. I was...talking with another teacher."

"What's that?" Trump asked, pointing at the box. 

"Oh, these are macrons...I-I mean macaroons! No, macaroni! Macarons! They're _macarons_!"

"Yeah, not macrons. Macron is a teacher, Mr. Trudeau," Kirchner said. She smiled, amused by Trudeau's stuttering. "He's kinda cute." 

Trudeau darkened several shades of red. "D-don't say that about your teachers, Ms. Kirchner." He hid the box and pulled out his lesson plan. "Let's move on from that! Now for today's lesson. Parliament versus Congress..."


	6. Early Morning Hormones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some ship moments. Love y'all!

Trudeau stared at his cell phone. It was 3 in the morning and he had to teach those little demons that very day. He'd been laying in his bed for hours, but why couldn't he fall asleep? 

Well, he knew perfectly well why he couldn't.

The previous day, Macron had made a comment about being a night owl with insomnia. Trudeau had then half-jokingly said that if there was ever a night when Macron couldn't sleep, to feel free to text him to pass the time. Macron laughed and said in his oh-so-charming way that, yes,  _bien sûr_ , he would text Trudeau whenever that happened. Of course, that didn't mean Trudeau had to stay up all night waiting for one, but now he suddenly seemed to be the one with insomnia.

Wait! If Macron would text Trudeau whenever he couldn't sleep, didn't that mean that Trudeau could also text him for the same reason? The difference was that Macron was the reason that Trudeau couldn't sleep, but Trudeau wasn't comfortable enough admitting that quite yet.

_Salut, je ne peux pas dormir parce que j'ai très envie de Tim Horton's haha...c'est une raison stupide, non ?_

Trudeau sent it without thinking and immediately regretted it. He couldn't sleep because he wanted Tim Horton's? What kind of reason was that?! Sure, he could go for one of their French Vanilla and English Toffee beverage, but that was beside the point. 

French Vanilla.

He really did love French Vanilla.

Trudeau stared at his phone waiting for an answer. And stared. And stared some more. Before he knew it, it was already four in the morning. Macron must have been asleep.  _Bon sang_! He'd have to wait until morning to see him now, and then he'd have to talk about his text, and that would suck in an awkward way, probably.

He'd just have to deal with it.

* * *

 

The United Nations Boarding School dorms were quiet. It was 4am on a school night, after all. However, one dorm room in particular still had its lights on with its two tennants wide awake. They were too busy scheming while listening to their favorite song, Blurred Lines, to sleep.

Putin and Trump sat on their prospective beds, crisscross applesauce with their laptops in front of them. Needless to say,Trump had they nicer laptop. Putin eyed it, appreciating its expense. Trump’s wealth was truly commendable.

“I’ve got an idea!” Trump suddenly declared, breaking Putin's admiration-filled trance. Putin raised an eyebrow so that the American would explain further. “I’ll campaign through Twitter! I’ll just put my username on all of my posters and then give prizes to the students who follow me. I've got a bag of candy here somewhere. Teenagers will literally do anything for food.”

Putin stroked his chin. That did sound like a genius idea, but…

“You are going to use your current Twitter? I think you should make a new one just for this,” Putin said. “Students could find old tweets to hold against you. And you’ve tweeted some things that are very, erm, how should I say this…”

“Amazing? Thoughtful? I know, it’ll blow all my competition away. It’s almost not fair.”

“I was thinking _polemic_ , but that too, of course,” Putin said. He smirked. “And don’t be too sure about defeating your competition. Remember I’m running too and I’ve got some _трюков в рукаве_ , too. Tricks up my sleeve.”

Donald waved away Putin’s words. “Vlad, I don’t even consider you competition. We’re friends to the end of this.”

Putin felt something warm in his abdomen that he hadn’t felt since he dated Lyudmila. The Russian quickly shifted positions and changed the subject.

“S-so I guess our first goal then is to get rid of Rodham, Kirchner, and Temer, then?” Putin said. He felt much more comfortable finding ways to bring others down.

“Right, we gotta find some dirt on ‘em!” Trump agreed. He paused and looked over to his phone. “Wait, can you go through my pictures and find the hottest selfie of me for me to set as a new profile picture? They’re all so hot that I can’t choose myself. Passcode’s 7255. I’ll go ahead and find the others’ social media on my laptop to work on exposing them.”

Trump tossed Putin his iPhone 7s. Putin caught it with ease, reflexes from his judo practice paying off. The lock screen was a picture of Melania in a bikini with an American flag print on it. Putin felt a light blush in his cheeks. It wasn’t exactly infatuation...He unlocked it and his face turned five shades redder…

“Oh, you see my home picture? Yeah, that’s a new position we tried last weekend,” Trump said, noticing Putin’s face which mirrored that of somebody very constipated and embarrassed at the same time.

“I...see…” Putin choked out. He hesitantly went to Trump’s photo gallery, suddenly realizing that it could have many more photos like that.

Jealousy, was that it? Why would he feel jealous about Melania?

Putin pushed those thoughts aside and started going through Trump’s pictures, breezing through the ones with Melania in them and taking his time to focus on the ones of Trump alone.

He just prayed that Trump wouldn’t look up at his facial expressions.

Finally, Putin picked one of Trump winking and gave the phone back to his roommate. “Use this one, Donny.”

Trump smiled and nodded. “That’s a favorite of mine. I knew I could count on you to pick the right one.”

Putin smiled, but he felt so... _frustrated_?

“You see this tweet from Temer?” Trump said, turning the laptop around so Putin could look. “It says ‘I love old people.’ As if! I just heard him say the other day that old people don’t do enough and should work longer.”

“Yes, but...that’s not really relevant to us as high schoolers,” Putin pointed out.

“So? He’s a liar! This tweet is fake! I need to call him out for it!” Trump declared. Putin admired his determination, nevertheless. “I’m going to tweet it right now!”

“Wait until tomorrow when you put up your posters and people start to follow you,” Putin suggested. “It’ll have a bigger impact that way.”

Trump took this into consideration. “Okay, that’s a good point. If you think so, I’ll wait.”

“ _Д-да_ …” Putin stuttered. He couldn’t take these feelings anymore. “Anyway, I’m tired. I’ll worry about taking down the enemies tomorrow.”

Trump closed his laptop. “Same. I think I'll hit the hay, too." He put the computer on his desk with his phone then crawled back into his bed. Putin got into his own.

“Goodnight, Vlad,” Trump said. He reached over and turned off the lamp on his nightstand. The room went dark. Putin could only see the outline of Trump in his bed. 

“ _Доброй ночи_ , Donny…” Putin muttered. He laid there awhile, mind racing, until he was sure that Trump had fallen asleep. He reached his hand down into his pants. Finally, he could relieve some of that... _tension_ down there.

* * *

 

The next day, Trudeau got to UNBS early. It wasn't that he wanted to be there, but he hadn't managed to sleep at all the whole night and figured he might as well go in and get some work done. Macron had never even answered his text! He must have thought it was so stupid. Maybe Trudeau could just play it off like he'd texted it while half asleep...

When he heard the knock on his classroom door, he was expecting Macron, but what he wasn't expecting was what Macron came to say. 

"Justin, _bonjour_! I hope haven't eaten yet, because I've brought you some Tim Horton's!" 

Macron came inside with a giant box of donuts and two hot coffees. He placed the box on Trudeau's desk and handed him one of the drinks. "I figured you'd need a pick-me-up if you were awake at 3am, and also figured you might be here this early."

Trudeau didn't realize just how hard he was smiling until he tried to speak. " _M-merci! Merci beaucoup, Emmanuel! Tu es genial!_ "

" _Je le sais_..." Macron said, and winked. "Haha, I'm kidding, _de rien_! What are you waiting for? Let's dig in! I hope you don't mind me staying here to eat?"

Trudeau shook his head. "Not at all! Please do! Make yourself comfortable! Or, as comfortable as you can be in a classroom..."

Macron laughed. "With you, I think I will be comfortable no matter what. He raised his coffee cup. " _A ta santé!_ "

 


End file.
